


Thank You, Mr. Fugly Marsh Monster

by DirtyMindedKinkyGirl (Fenix21)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Fingering, First Time, M/M, Mpreg, Mpreg!Sam, Stuffing, Swearing, Wincest - Freeform, copious use of the word 'fuck', egglaying, handjobs, rapid pregnancy, total self indulgent kink stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/DirtyMindedKinkyGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets knocked up on a hunt by a tentacle-y marsh monster. Sex is about the only thing that helps get all those nasty monster eggs out of his belly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank You, Mr. Fugly Marsh Monster

**Author's Note:**

> This is no-shit-self-indulgent-kink, folks. If you're not a hundred percent ready for mpreg porn for it's own sake, I'd steer clear. Be warned there is also an obscene amount of swearing, dirty-talk, and moaning and groaning.

'Ugh, yuck,' Sam swished and spit out a mouthful of water, and Dean grinned from the driver's seat. Sam scowled and swigged another mouthful, swished and spit. 'Not fucking funny, Dean.'

Dean tried to school his face, but it was hard. 'Dude, you got like… _tongue-fucked_ by a marsh monster.'

Sam belched, covered his mouth for a second, looking seriously green around the gills so that Dean damn near pulled over to let him puke _outside_ the car, then glared at his brother before mastering his gag reflex and swilling down more water. 

'I need to brush my teeth.'

'Not sure that's gonna help,' Dean said. 'You've gargled every bottle of water we had in the car, and you still look like you wanna puke.'

Sam chugged the rest of the bottle in his hand, made a face, and stuck his tongue out. 'God, I can still taste it. I swear it.'

'Yeah, well. I think we can fix that with some burgers and a couple of beers. What'd'ya say?'

Sam wasn't sure he felt like eating anything. He'd just had a very long, very thick, slimy tentacle with little wiggly protuberances stuck down his gullet, and—

'Fuck.' Sam grabbed his stomach and mouth both, pitching forward. 'Dean, pull over.'

Dean didn't ask any questions, just steered to the shoulder and let Sam throw himself out the passenger door to his hands and knees and vomit for about a full three minutes. He reached over the back of the seat for yet another bottle of water and a towel and had them ready when Sam hefted himself shakily back into the seat.

'Better?'

Sam nodded weakly, took the offered water and towel and wiped his face and gargled out the sharp, acrid taste of bile.

'Motel? Shower?'

'Yeah. Just. Don't talk about food, okay?'

Dean nodded his agreement and got them back on the road to the motel.

 

Sam took first shower, using up all three of the complimentary bottles of soap and the shampoo and conditioner to get the slime off his skin and out of his hair. Then he finished off his own tube of toothpaste, and made a good dent in Dean's, brushing his teeth until his gums bled.

When he got out, he could smell greasy burgers and fries wafting in through the cracked bathroom door, and he was surprised it didn't instantly turn his stomach. He sniffed tentatively and then pulled in a huge whiff. His stomach growled noisily. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went out into the room. 

Dean was tugging off his boots and shedding his clothes, and popping fries into his mouth as he left a trail of slime covered clothing from the bed to the bathroom. 

'Be out in a minute,' he said.

Sam's stomach growled again. Obscenely. Dean stopped and raised an eyebrow.

'Change you're mind about being hungry?'

Sam grinned sheepishly. 'Yeah. I guess.'

'Well, don't touch my fries.'

Dean closed the bathroom door, and Sam surveyed the styrofoam containers on the table. Dean's was open, heaped with fries and a double cheeseburger with bacon. The other container had a chicken sandwich and fries, and there were two more containers with pie, both of which Dean had probably intended on eating himself. Sam nabbed one of Dean's fries just for spite and then turned to rifle his duffle for clean clothes, but his stomach made another loud, demanding rumble, and Sam hissed in pain as it cramped in apparent hunger. Maybe all the throwing up by the side of the road had been too much for it. He hadn't eaten much today as it was. Maybe he just needed to give it a little food.

He forwent dressing when his stomach cramped again and grabbed his chicken sandwich and sat down on the bed. He tore into it like a man who hadn't eaten in a year, unable to control himself after the first bite. In less than five minutes, he'd polished off the sandwich and fries, and his stomach was still grumbling angrily, and it still hurt. He eyed Dean's burger. His mouth watered. His stomach growled demandingly. 

He grabbed the container and scarfed down the half pound of beef, bacon, and cheddar in less time than he had the chicken sandwich. The fries disappeared a minute later. He was licking his fingers and listening to his stomach rumble when he realized what he'd just done.

'Shit.'

He grabbed for the phonebook in the nightstand and flipped to the local restaurants, called the first likely looking one, and ordered three large supreme pizzas. His stomach grumbled again and he pressed a hand to it. At least it wasn't cramping now. He tugged on boxers and sweats and dug out money for the pizzas and sat on the edge of the bed staring at the door, willing a knock to issue forth and announce the arrival of food. 

'Dude!'

Sam jerked in surprise. Dean was standing in the bathroom doorway in his boxers, towel around his head, staring at the empty containers on Sam's bed. Sam pulled out his sheepish smile again and shrugged. 'Guess I was a lot hungrier than I thought.'

'I'll say,' Dean looked at him quizzically. 

'I, uh, ordered pizza,' Sam said.

'Good. At least I still get to eat.' Dean went over to the food bag and peered in. 'Man! You even ate the pie?'

Sam startled. He didn't remember eating the pie. He looked around and found the two small containers on the floor at his feet. Licked clean. Jesus. 

'You're gettin' me more,' Dean groused, shoving the containers into the trash.

'O-okay,' Sam said and shot off the bed. He grabbed a t-shirt and his wallet and shoved his feet into his boots.

'Sam!'

'What?'

Dean was staring at him. 'I was joking. Jesus. Relax. I'll live without the pie.'

'No!' Sam nearly shouted. 'No, it's okay. You're right. I'm sorry. I'll get more. Or I'll…I'll find something.'

Dean didn't have a chance to say anything more before Sam was out the door and down the block. His stomach was growling again, loud and insistent. He spotted a gas station another half block down and headed there. Inside, he picked up a basket and started trawling the aisles, dumping in anything and everything that looked even remotely edible. He cleared the shelf of the off brand pocket pies they carried. The cashier gave him a bit of an odd look, and Sam just shrugged. 

'Road food,' he said. 'Really long trip.'

The guy just shook his head. Sam paid and started back to the motel. He saw the pizza delivery car pass by and quickened his step. His stomach gurgled. He stopped long enough to pull out a pack of powdered donuts from the bag and yank them open, munching them down the final half block to the motel.

Dean was waiting, eyes, wide, stilling holding the four large pizzas—because Sam had called back and added one to the order—when Sam came in with four stuffed plastic bags and powdered sugar all down the front of his shirt and around his mouth. 

'Okay, Sam. What the hell's going on here?' Dean asked, scowling. 'You're never _this_ hungry, and you _never_ eat this kind of junk.'

''Dunno,' Sam said, grabbing the top box and taking it to his bed. He dropped the bags, opened the box and grabbed two slices, eating them together. Dean stared. 'Gonna eat?' Sam managed around a mouthful.

Dean dropped onto his own bed and starred at his brother. 'I'm not sure I'm very hungry anymore.'

 

Dean ate a couple of slices in the end, had a beer and watched with increasing worry as Sam packed away all the rest without ever slowing down. Dean tried to warn him he was going to make himself sick, and he nearly threw up a time or two himself just watching Sam stuff his face, but Sam seemed utterly oblivious. 

In the middle of the night, Dean could hear Sam up rummaging in the bags from the grocery store, chomping down on donuts and cookies and beef jerky.  He rolled over, buried his head in the pillow and swore he'd call Bobby first thing and ask about the side effects of having a marsh monster tongue-fuck you right before your brother bisected it, because this…was not normal for anyone.

 

Sam managed to pass out around three in the morning, but by seven his stomach was growling and cramping again, and he was up and tugging on his clothes haphazardly, and sneaking out of the room to go down to the corner diner and have breakfast. 

Dean found him about an hour later, working his way through his sixth stack of pancakes, and the table was littered with plates nearly licked clean that had contained biscuits and gravy and waffles and crepes and eggs Benedict and about two pounds of sausage and bacon and hash browns. The poor waitress looked beside herself as she brought back another full pot of coffee and carafe of orange juice and just left it at the table. 

Dean sat over a cup of black coffee for about five minutes before Sam even noticed he was there. When Sam did finally look up, he grinned wolfishly around half a pancake he'd stuffed in his mouth and pushed the plate toward Dean.

'Hungry?'

Dean swallowed. 'No.' He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. 'I'm callin' Bobby.'

'Huh? Why?'

''Cause of this, Sam!' Dean swept an arm over the table and the stacks of dishes. 'I mean, what the hell?'

Sam shrugged and went on eating. 'I'm just _really_ hungry. I've been living on rabbit food for like…ever. Maybe I just need to catch up.'

'Uh-huh.' Dean wasn't convinced. 'Sam, I'm really startin' to worry.'

Sam stopped long enough to give his brother one of those serene, stupidly honest, heart-felt looks of his. 'Dean, I'm okay. Seriously. I feel fine.'

'Right.' Dean frowned as Sam shoveled away the rest of the pancakes on his plate, but slid his phone back into his jacket pocket.

 

Sam's eating binge continued for another seventy-two hours in which Dean's thumb hovered over the call button to Bobby about a dozen times, but Sam always managed to talk him down or give him those puppy eyes of his and Dean just swore under his breath and put his phone away.

'You're gonna make yourself sick,' Dean said about a thousand times, but Sam never did get sick and his stomach never quit. It growled, grumbled, and rumbled almost twenty-four-seven demanding to be fed. Dean couldn't get fifty miles down the road from a gas station before Sam was whining that he was hungry when the junk food he loaded up on at each stop ran out inside of an hour. 

Dean couldn't tell where the hell he was putting it all, either, because as much as he was _never_ going to admit it to anyone, he was keeping tabs on Sam's bathroom stops and, well, the thing was, he _wasn't_ going, and Dean couldn't figure out how in the hell his kid brother wasn't constipated to the point of illness—especially given Sam's historically finicky digestive system—but he didn't have so much as a case of gas. Neither was he putting on any weight. On the contrary, Sam was looking almost anorexic by the end of the third day, his jeans still hanging loose as ever around his skinny hips, and his gut, which ought to be hanging out over his waistband by now with all the grease and fat and hydrogenated-whatevers he'd been packing away, was flat as always, washboard perfect. 

Dean was flummoxed, and he didn't like that at all.

 

On the fourth day, the whole thing just stopped. 

Sam woke up, still feeling fine, but his stomach was resoundingly silent on the matter of food, and when Dean took him for breakfast at the corner diner he ordered his usual coffee, orange juice, and oatmeal.

Dean lifted his eyebrow as Sam stirred his oatmeal and ate it in slow, civilized bites while he perused the news on his laptop. 'So, you finally caught up?' he asked.

Sam looked up. 'Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I guess. Just…oatmeal sounded good this morning.'

'No cravings?'

'Nope.'

'Feeling okay?'

'Yup.'

Dean scowled. Sam went back to his laptop. They finished breakfast, left the pretty waitress a nice tip, and got back on the road, while the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood up the whole time waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

 

And drop, it finally did.

Sam was fine until about seven that night, right after they'd pulled into the motel and Dean had shed his sweat damp, sticky clothes and crawled in the shower because the Impala's compressor had quit working about two hundred miles back and would need some TLC tomorrow before they took off again in this sweltering hundred degree weather. 

He was just getting out when he heard Sam's pained moan come from the main room.

'Dean?'

Dean swung the door open, towel at his waist, still dripping. 'Sammy? What's wrong?'

Sam was hunched on the edge of his bed, sweating profusely despite the room air conditioner chugging away at full power, clutching at his middle and breathing in little pained huffs. Dean grabbed his boxers, hopping into them on first one leg and then the other on his way to squat down at the edge of the bed beside Sam.

'Sam?'

'Hurts, Dean,' Sam managed. 'God…it hurts!'

'What hurts?'

Sam moaned again, curled into himself further, though that appeared to be the wrong thing to do, because he hissed in pain and sat back up, clutching at the side of the bed with one hand while the other splayed wide over his belly,

And belly was the right word for it, too. Dean stared at the swell of his his brother's midsection, pushing out against his t-shirt and cutting into the band of his jeans. 'Jesus, Sam… What's—what happened?'

'I don't— I don't know,' Sam huffed between moans of pain. 'Unngh. Dean…God, please, we gotta…unnngh….'

Dean watched in horror as Sam's belly swelled out even more. Sam cried out and fell back on the bed, huffing and puffing as his belly literally grew before Dean's eyes.

'Fuck, Sam…' Dean shot up, grabbed his phone and started to dial.

'No hospital!' Sam cried before clutching his middle and moaning loudly as it pushed out another inch.

'Sam! We don't know what the hell's wrong with you. You need help!'

'B-Bobby,' Sam gasped, fingers inching down to his waistband where he managed to work the buttons loose with a loud pop and relieve some of the pressure on his growing belly. 'Call Bobby. You were… right. Must've been that damn…marsh monster! Fuck, Dean!'

Sam yanked up his shirt and stared down at himself. His belly was the size of a small watermelon and it pulsed and churned, and Dean felt his own stomach rebel at the sight of it stretching bigger and bigger as he stood there, frozen, with his fingers hovering over the phone. 

'Holy shit…' He finally unfroze himself, dialed Bobby's number, tucked the phone against his shoulder and started helping Sam in his struggle to get his too tight clothing off in between bouts of pained gasps and cries. 

On the fourth ring, Bobby picked up and Dean spilled the whole last four days worth of events out at high speed before the older man could even get a word in edgewise. 

'Bobby, what the hell do we do?' Dean demanded. 'He looks like he's gonna explode!'

'Calm down, son,' Bobby said, and Dean could here books being pushed, shoved, and flipped through until there was a definitive 'ah-ha.'

'What? What!' Dean snapped as Sam cried out again, fingers clawing at the swell of his belly that was now verging on beachball status. The skin was stretch thin and white and taut, and Sam was panting and gasping, rolling back and forth in pain on the bed.

'Dean! Dean, God, I feel like I'm gonna burst. We gotta— We gotta—uuuhhnngg!'

'Sammy?' Dean dropped on the bed beside him and tentatively reached out to lay his hand against the huge, hard swell of his brother's belly. 

'Marsh monster, you said?' Bobby asked.

'Yeah!'

'Okay, and you killed it four days ago?'

'Yes!'

'Full moon, right?'

'Yeah?'

Bobby fell silent for a minute, flipping through pages, then, 'You said he's been eating everything in sight and then just suddenly stopped?'

'Yes.'

Bobby flipped some more pages, then gave a curious, 'huh.'

'What?!' Dean demanded.

'Well, it seems that Sam's pregnant.'

'What!' Dean squeaked.

'Wh-What?' Sam asked, eyes going saucer wide in fear mirroring Dean's.

'Bobby, that's nuts. He can't be. There's no way. He can't _do_ that!'

'Do what?' Sam asked between grunts of pain. 'What the hell's wrong…with me…oh _fucking_ GOD!'

Sam's shoulders came up off the bed and he screamed, arms wrapping around the rock hard globe of his huge belly.

'Sam!' Dean fumbled and dropped the phone and leaned over his brother, hands searching in vain for the source of the pain. 'Sam, what is it?'

But Sam couldn't answer. He was huffing and gasping, keening deep in his throat with the pain that apparently centered in the enormous swell of his midsection.

'Dean!' Bobby's tinny voice yelled from the phone where Dean had dropped the phone. 'Dean, what's happening?'

Dean snatched up the phone. 'He—he—I don't know, Bobby. He was in pain, but then he was suddenly _really_ in pain.' He sat back down on the edge of the bed, laid a hand against Sam's sweaty brow. 'Sammy, what's goin' on? What's happening? Talk to me. Please!'

'Can't—oh, God—Dean!' Sam rolled up again, containing his scream this time to a stifled cry. 'Dean, it's—I think it's—' But he couldn't finish, just collapsed back, crying and clutching at his middle.

'Okay, Dean, listen up,' Bobby commanded. 'The monster laid it's eggs in your brother's gut. Says here they need ninety-six hours to incubate, they induce their host into an eating frenzy, only it's them that's doing all the digesting, then they start growin'. Fast. Obviously, we've hit that point. Then they have to…come out.'

'How?' Dean asked, throat dry.

Bobby hemmed and hawed for a second, then, 'Well, given that they're in his digestive tract…use your logic circuits, son.'

Dean almost did hurl then, clapping a hand over his mouth, but he didn't have long to be shocked because Sam suddenly tensed and nearly sat up in the bed, letting out a low, groaning cry before he fell back and rolled to his side.

'Dean? Dean…I think…oh, God, I think…' Sam trailed off weakly and one hand reached behind him to clutch at his buttocks. 

'Holy shit,' Dean breathed again. He stared for a second, then reached around, helped Sam pulled his boxers down and off so he could spread his legs and—

Dean gagged, very nearly vomited, but managed to control it at the last second when he saw the slick, clear mucus-like substance oozing down Sam's thighs and then glimpsed the hard, vaguely greenish, rounded… _thing_ trying to push its way out of Sam's ass. 

'Bobby, what the _hell_ do I do?' Dean whispered fiercely. 

'Get a bucket. Fill it with salt water and dump any iron shot you've got in the trunk in it. As soon as Sam…expels the, uh, eggs, drop 'em in the bucket. Should kill 'em straight off.'

'O-okay.'

'And good luck, son. Call me if you need me.'

'Yeah.'

A little dazed, and a lot sick to his stomach, Dean stumbled around the room. He didn't have a bucket, so the beer cooler would have to so. He dumped a whole container of salt in it along with a box of iron shells, all the while babbling to Sam, mostly just nonsense like he had when the kid was young and scared or hurt.

'Sam, it's gonna be okay. We just have to—to get these things out of you. Okay?'

Sam was in too much pain to hardly be coherent. He was grasping at his ass cheeks now, spreading them, trying to make room for the thing emerging from his anus. He was grunting hard, bearing down against it, trying to push it out of him. 

Dean tugged the cooler over by the bed and gingerly sat down by Sam's side. 'Sammy, breathe. Remember to breathe.'

Sam huffed a breath and then looked up at Dean. 'What in the hell's going on, Dean?'

'You're…' Dean floundered. The whole thing was absolutely impossible and preposterous, but it was happening right in front of him, so maybe not so impossible, only preposterous. 'You're pregnant, Sammy.'

'What?!!'

'The monster…it, uh, got you pregnant apparently when it tried to hump your throat, and now you've got its eggs growing in your innards.'

'Oh, God…oh, God, ohgodohgodohgod!' Sam started to hyperventilate and then turn green, and Dean grabbed the trash can just in time for Sam to hurl into it, not that there was much there. Apparently the things inside Sam were consuming _everything_ he ate and left behind only more of that clear, watery mucus. Sam wretched again, hard, and then reared back and cried out, clutching at his ass.

'Sam?'

'Dean, it's coming! It's coming! Get it out! God, get it _fucking_ out!'

Dean slid down the bed a little and peered between Sam's spread legs. The greenish egg thing was pushed further out of Sam's anus, looking about the size of a large plum at the moment, but big enough to stretch Sam painfully. He huffed and puffed above Dean, groaning and trying to push, but it didn't seem to be helping. Dean took a deep breath to center himself and then reached out and grabbed Sam's ass, spreading it, holding him open.

'Sam, you have to focus. Focus and push, okay?'

Sam tried. He grunted some more, propped himself up on his elbows and heaved, bearing down until he was red faced and gasping, but the thing didn't move and his belly was still taut and hard as a rock, though thankfully looked like it had quit growing. 

'Dean, I can't…I can't! Fuck! I can't get it out.'

Dean chewed on his bottom lip for a second and then muttered to himself, 'Christ I can't believe I'm doing this….' He moved his hands enough that he could get his thumbs to the stretched tight skin of Sam's hole and then started working them around the rim.

'Dean, what're you…what the fuck are you doing?' Sam gasped.

'Just push, Sam, okay?' Dean commanded. 'Just push, and I'll try and get your…hole to relax a little so it'll pass.'

Sam nodded uncertainly, but did as Dean told him to, got up on his elbows again and pushed hard. Dean worked at the tight skin with his thumbs, easing it back as Sam grunted and groaned above him, and the thing slowly started to move. 

'That's it, Sam. That's it. Push some more. You're doing good. I think this one's just about out.'

Sam pushed again, and Dean worked at his hole, soothing it, easing the skin further back until the egg slipped out with a wet, squelching pop. He immediately picked it up between two fingers and dropped it in the cooler. It fizzed a little and then shriveled up and dropped to the bottom, turning dark green and dead looking. 

'Dean?'

'Yeah, Sam.' Dean automatically reached to take Sam's hand and squeeze it. 'You did good. You got it. Bobby was right. The salt and iron water worked.'

Sam fell back in momentary relief before he let out a shocked little huff and struggled upward again, face drawn as he started pushing again. 

'Already?' Dean asked. But he should have figured, because Sam's belly was huge and if all the eggs were about the same size, and dear God he hoped none of them were any bigger, then they were in for a very long and painful night. 

Sam nodded quickly. 'Yeah, and…ahhhhh, Dean! I think…this one's…bigger!'

Sam collapsed back on the pillows crying as the second egg started pressing against his anus. It bulged out at first until the muscle finally gave way and loosened up and then it started to stretch him wide. Dean took position, holding him open for it, and coached Sam gently, urging him push as he worked his thumbs around Sam's hole again just like before. This one was slightly larger. More on the size of a small apple, and it took them twice as long to get it out. Sam cried in relief when it finally popped out, and Dean disposed of it just like before. 

The next few were the size of those tiny, miniature apricots that Sam had loved when he was a kid and a few grunts got them birthed with minimal effort and little more than mild discomfort. Another couple of plum sized ones had Sam sweating and swearing again, and then he seemed to stall out. Nothing came for five minutes, and then ten, and then Sam started to moan as his belly got tight and hard again and seemed to resume expanding.

'Dean, it's swelling,' he moaned. 'Oh, God, it's getting bigger. I have to get them out. I think they're still growing…inside me…unngguuuhhh!' Sam clutched at his still massively swollen middle and groaned hugely. 

'I don't know what to do, Sam. It's not like we can make them come,' Dean said. He put his hands tentatively on Sam's belly and rubbed, hoping it would help. Sam moaned, but it wasn't entirely in pain. 'You've tried pushing and that isn't working. It's not like you're having contractions or anything to help push them down.'

Sam rolled to his side and pushed up with a grunt and immense amount of effort. Dean grabbed his elbow and helped him as he worked his way down to his knees on the floor.

'G-gravity, maybe?' Sam huffed, then doubled over at the shift of the weight inside him. 'Oh _fuck_! Yup…that did it!'

Sam was groaning and pushing and clutching at the edge of the bed again with Dean squatted down behind him, holding open his ass cheeks so another apple sized egg could emerge to a litany of creative swearing from Sam. Dean thumbed his hole, soothing the skin again, and Sam started to moan in earnest.

'Sam, you okay?'

'Yeah. Yeah. Dean, I think when you…when you do that, it really helps.'

'Well, that's good, cause I'd hate to be back here feelin' up your ass for no good reason.'

'No, Dean, I mean…it's making me, uh…and I think that's helping get them to come out,' Sam said.

It took Dean a second to get exactly what his brother was saying, but then he peeked around Sam's thigh and saw his cock bobbing, huge and fat, plain as day under the enormous curve of his belly. 

'Damn, Sam…'

'Sorry,' he mumbled and then grunted in earnest as the egg started pushing out again. 

Dean continued his ministrations and the egg finally dropped out into Dean's waiting palm to go straight to the salt and iron bath. He sat back on his haunches for a minute, waiting as Sam caught his breath and repositioned himself on his knees. 

'So…you're sayin'—basically—that me, uh, touching your hole is…turning you on?'

Sam nodded, but didn't look back at Dean. 'Yeah, I guess so, and it's…it's making the muscles on the inside, uh…clench a little, I guess? It just feels like it's helping.'

Dean processed that, peeked around Sam's hip again to spy on his blood fattened cock that appeared to be weeping pre-come on the carpet now, and then made the next leap. 'So, if I were to…jack you off,' Dean said it quickly, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. 'You think that would help?'

'I dunno? Maybe?' Sam answered.

'O-kay.' Dean took a big breath and let it out slow and then spread his legs a little, because his own cock was inexplicably starting to fill at the thought of getting his hand wrapped around his brother's. He hadn't gotten laid in a while, he excused himself in his head, and, well, any port in a storm, right? 'So, you wanna try?'

Sam choked on his answer and could only nod.

Dean scooted forward, pressing close against Sam's back and then slowly reached around and felt under the heavy weight of his full, sagging belly, for the thick, hard length of his cock. He wrapped his hand around it and gave a tentative stroke. Sam twitched and moaned. 

'Good?'

'Guh…' was all Sam could manage. 

Dean stroked again, and Sam lifted into it. Dean let his fingers close over the slick, swollen head, getting them wet with Sam's come, and then slid back down the length. Sam dropped forward and groaned loud and long and filthy. Dean shuddered behind him and his cock jerked inside his boxers.

'Dammit, Sam, quit makin' so much noise,' he cursed softly, 'cause there were limits to how much of this he could accept, and coming in his damn boxers, untouched like some teenager, was more than he could take. He gave Sam's cock another couple of hard pulls and Sam tried like hell to stifle his moaning, but it didn't work, and then he was huffing again, in pain now, and Dean made to stop, but Sam grabbed his hand and kept it around his cock. 

'Don't stop,' Sam ground out as he hunched forward and started grunting with his pushes. Dean kept up his stroking, feeling Sam get harder and harder in his hand, felt the muscles all along his back go tense with his efforts.

'Fucking huge!' he gasped out, and dropped a little lower to open himself further. Dean reached his other hand down between Sam's cheeks and worked his fingers around his stretched hole. It felt like this one was the biggest yet, almost the size of an orange if Dean was any judge. 

'Fuck…fuck, fuckfuck _fuck!_ ' Sam cried out and grabbed the edge of the bed, lifting up and grunting deeply as he bore down. Dean fingered his hole, actively working the skin back away from the egg as it crowned, while he kept jacking Sam with his other hand. 

'Dean…Dean, oh…oh, oh…ahhhhhhh!' Sam curled forward, muscles locking, the egg plopped into Dean's hand almost forcibly and Sam's cock pulsed and throbbed with his release in the same second, coating the comforter in thick stripes of come. Dean dropped the thing into the cooler, panting, and tried to take his hand off Sam's cock, but found he couldn't. It felt so good, even soft and flaccid like it was now, and Dean was so hard, and he just needed…fuck he just need a little tug—

Dean groaned against Sam's shoulder, turning his mouth into the meaty part of it to bite down gently as he came in his shorts, rutting against Sam's ass.

'D-Dean?'

'Oh fuck, 'm sorry, Sammy…Jesus, that was just…wrong. I'm sorry—'

'No. Dean, it's okay. It's fine. I was just surprised you could.'

'Yeah, well, you're not the only one,' Dean mumbled. 'Did it help? Really?'

'Yeah, I think…it definitely did. It was faster this time.'

'Okay…okay.' Dean rested his forehead between Sam's shoulder blades. 'How's your gut? You emptying out at all?'

'I can't tell yet. I still feel like my insides are stuffed. Like if I move, I might pop.'

'Okay, so we need to get this show rolling faster, huh?'

'Yeah, before they start to grow again,' Sam gave a tiny groan of discomfort. 'If they're not already.'

'You feel another one comin'?'

'No. Not at all,' Sam said, and his voice was quavering a little. 

'Hey, it's okay. We'll figure it out,' Dean assure him. 'What— what do you want to try next?'

Sam didn't answer right away, and when he did, his voice was small and shy. 'I'm so…tight, Dean. Maybe they can't get down because I'm not…loose. Maybe if you, uh…?'

'You mean, like, with my fingers?' Dean asked, catching on quick.

'Yeah, and I dunno, maybe with…your cock?'

Dean sat back a little. 'You want me to fuck you, Sam?'

Sam flushed all the way up his back and shoulders. 'I don't—I think, so, yes? Yeah. I do. It'll help open me up, right? I'll be loose and slick and—'

'Shut up, Sam,' Dean bit out.

'Sorry,' Sam squeaked. 'Sorry. Never mind, I just—'

Dean shook his head and then bit into Sam's shoulder again, hard enough to make him gasp. 'Shut up before you make me come all over again.'

Sam shut up.

Dean dispensed with his boxers, kicking them aside and then hitched up close to Sam's back, letting his half-hard length slid against Sam's ass. 'You sure about this, Sammy?' But if Dean really needed an answer all he had to do was look to his hand which was filling up with Sam's thick, hard length again. 'Okay, but as soon as you start to feel one coming, you tell me so I can get out.'

Sam nodded quickly, then scooted back into the cradle of Dean's hips, rubbing his ass against Dean's cock. Dean moaned and used his free hand to stroke himself a couple of times and then guide himself up against Sam's hole. It was still tight even though he'd passed a couple of friggin' huge monster eggs. But Dean figured that was because the muscles really didn't want to give in the face of pain, whereas they'd probably release a whole lot more willingly in the face of pleasure. He bumped the blunt head of his cock against Sam's hole, felt it flutter wantonly, heard Sam moan to match it, then pushed a little. Sam gasped and pushed back, hole fluttering more, opening, giving to the velvet hardness of Dean's cock. Dean centered up and pushed in slow, just the head, opening Sam up with relative ease.

'Oh, Dean…' Sam moaned and shifted, rocking his hips, tugging at Dean's cock head lodged inside him. 'Oh…Dean!' Sam's own cock was back to full hardness, leaking like a faucet across Dean's knuckles and twitching hard. Dean moaned himself and pushed in another inch. Sam gasped, arching into it, and Dean felt his inner muscles pulse and contract. 

'Sammy…fuck, Sammy…so hot…so tight,' Dean muttered, as he pushed in yet another inch. Sam opened around him beautifully, just letting him in, letting him slide right in and fill him up. Dean groaned, pushing harder. He was going to last all of about another five seconds in his brother's tight, squeezing heat. 'Sammy, I'm gonna come, man. I can't—'

'Good,' Sam said ferociously. 'Good. Do it. Do it! Come, Dean! Fucking fill me up!'

Dean rocked forward, punching his hips a little until he was seated completely in Sam's ass and Sam was coming all over himself and the bed again, moaning and gasping and Dean was right behind him, filling up Sam's ass and slicking the path for the eggs, 'cause, yeah, that's what this was all about, Dean reminded himself. Sam needed this so he could give birth to those damn eggs easier. It was totally _not_ because Dean felt so amazingly, fucking _good_ buried to the hilt in his little brother's ass.

'Dean?' Sam was patting his thigh anxiously, trying to pull off of his dick. 'Dean, it's coming. You gotta—' Sam cut off on a groan and Dean had the unpleasant sensation of an egg shoving against the head of his cock before he got enough of his wits together to yank out, and in about no-seconds later, there were two plum sized eggs on the carpet under Sam and another one slightly larger spreading him open and with a couple of pushes, Sam got it out, too.

They all went into the bath.

'Well,' Dean said, grinning. 'I guess that worked, huh?'

Sam nodded, smiling into the crook of his arm where he was resting his head, panting slightly. 'Yeah, it did. Really well, in fact.' He shifted a little, and Dean heard his breath hitch as he bore down slightly, pressing on the curve of his swollen belly with one hand, and then there were three more eggs, birthed effortlessly, lying on the floor. Dean disposed of them.

'Job done then,' Dean said, and he tried like hell to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

'But, you know, we should probably…again? Just in case?' Sam said.

Dean shuddered and scooted forward on his knees again. 'Sammy, I think you're a slut,' he said low and raspy into Sam's ear. Sam shuddered. 'And I really, really like it.'

'Just fucking stick your dick in me,' Sam demanded with a dazed smile.

'Oh, so demanding,' Dean said, but he had his hand between his legs and was stroking himself back to full hardness in less than a minute. He had to admit, even he was amazed. He had stamina, sure, but three times going on four in under an hour? That was pretty damn historic. He gripped himself tight and started to guide his head to Sam's eager hole, and then stopped.

'Dean?'

Dean hummed a little in thought, then continuing to stroke himself, he reached out and pushed a finger up Sam's ass. Sam gasped and shoved back against it. Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam's ear. 'Think you can come without me touching you, Sammy? Huh? Wanna try?'

'Uh-huh,' Sam moaned and pushed hard against Dean's stroking finger. Dean added another with ease, crooking them together to feel for that spot that he'd read about in—

Sam jerked and cried out, but it was totally painless and absolutely, one hundred percent in ecstasy.

Yeah. _That_ spot.

Dean stroked it again, eliciting another cry, and then he added a third finger, rubbing and stroking inside Sam's ass until he was writhing and begging,

'Dean, please…please. Fuck! Want your cock in me. Now!'

Dean laughed breathily and obliged him, shoving his dick in Sam's ass fast and hard, ramming it home this time, pumping his hips hard until there was only the sound of skin slapping together and Sam's moans and Dean's grunts and he got harder, and fatter than he'd ever been before inside any girl's hot, slick pussy.

'Gonna come, Dean…gonna come so fucking hard!' Sam rasped out. 

'Yeah, Sam. Oh, yeah. Come for me, Sammy. Come for me,' Dean urged, and a second later Sam's ass muscles clenched like a vice, gripping Dean painfully until he was coming, too, on a full throated yell of Sam's name.

Dean dropped forward, spent and panting, dazed, but Sam was slapping at his thigh anxiously.

'Out! Get out, Dean! I—'

Dean pulled back and a thick rush of fluid poured out of Sam's ass and a minute after that, the eggs started coming steadily, one right after the other. Sam hunched forward, gripping the edge of the bed, grunting occasionally when a larger one tried to pass out of him, and just let it happen. Dean methodically dropped each and every one in the salt and iron bath.

Inside of an hour, the cooler was nearly full and Sam's belly was nearly empty, flat again like it should be, if a little flabby from the intense and sudden stretching earlier. They waited a full half hour after the last egg passed before declaring it completely over. Sam fell across the bed, exhausted and sore. Dean flipped the cooler lid closed and latched it tight and shoved it next to the door. He'd take the contents out and burn them at the edge of town in the morning just to be sure. He yanked the covers back on the bed they hadn't used at all, and hefted Sam up and laid him out in it. He got a washcloth and towel and wiped them both down, and ignored the mess on the floor. He'd leave an extra c-note, 'cause he was _not_ cleaning up monster birth fluids. Then he crawled in next to Sam, tugged up the covers and gratefully fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

When Sam woke the next morning, he was momentarily afraid the whole ordeal from the night before wasn't completely over, because his ass felt full again and stretched and—

Oh.

He moaned softly and put his hand down between his legs to stroke his own hard cock because Dean's was up his ass, swollen and hard and hot. A hand reached around and covered his as he stroked himself. He bit back another moan.

'Thought we were only doing this to help me get rid of all the monster eggs?' he said.

Dean shrugged against his back and continued his stroking, pushing forward with his hips, rocking gently, letting his cock settle even deeper in Sam's ass. 'Think I must've gotten addicted or something, 'cause, well, I love your tight ass, Sam, and I really, _really_ want to keep sticking my dick in it.'

Sam shuddered at the visual and the sensation of Dean swelling inside his tight heat at his own words. He rocked back in time with Dean's little pushes. 'Yeah, I think, maybe…maybe something like that happened to me, too.'

'Want my cock in you, Sammy?' Dean murmured against his ear.

'Oh, yes,' Sam breathed. 'Yes.'

Dean chuckled and stroked Sam harder, picking up the pace of his own thrusts, and secretly thanked that ugly, marshy, son of a bitch monster for knocking his brother up, 'cause _this_? This was _totally_ worth it.


End file.
